


Make Me Whole

by TheRaven



Series: Recovery [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, M/M, Scars, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-20 11:35:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1508987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRaven/pseuds/TheRaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky has issues. Steve finds out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This fic contains depictions of self-harm. It is minimally-graphic, but it does show the aftermath of self-harm as well as the act of it, and there is discussion in the fic regarding it. All of these things may be triggering or otherwise uncomfortable for certain readers. More chapters will be posted dealing with Bucky's recovery, but this chapter is pretty heavy. Don't worry, I won't feel bad if you don't read this. I'd rather people close this fic than subject themselves to things that may be detrimental to their mental and/or physical health. That said, if you can handle all the aforementioned content, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Bucky turns himself in two months after they take down Hydra. He shows up at Stark Tower, armor replaced by threadbare army fatigues, and asks for Steve—Captain America—to take him in. Steve is glad to, is mostly just relieved that he isn't missing anymore, and they ride in an armored car to what remains of S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters to take him into protective custody. Once the public gets wind of this, of course, they call for him to be prosecuted as a terrorist, but S.H.I.E.L.D. releases a statement explaining that they can't hold him accountable for things he did while brainwashed, and the furor dies down enough that they can proceed with deprogramming him.

The first few days are rough. Bucky's memories come back in reverse chronological order, and his most recent ones are full of torture and bloodshed. He screams and sobs and throws himself against the walls of his room after therapy sessions until they have to restrain and sedate him, but the sedatives only work if he gets massive amounts of them injected every fifteen minutes or so, and they quickly run out of everything they can put in him to keep him calm. After that, they just let him scream.

After three months, they decide he's stable enough to be released from inpatient therapy. He's got most of his memories back, and he's lucid, so they release him into Steve's custody. He's the best person to help him adjust to normal life, they figure, because he's familiar and he's already been through the shock of entering into a world completely alien to the one he knew. Steve sets up a bed for him on the couch and makes sure to stay up with him until he falls asleep, then makes sure to wake him up when the night terrors come and sit with him until he falls asleep again.

A month later, and there are still good days and bad days. Bucky goes to therapy three times a week for two hours, and Steve accompanies him to every session. They really need him for missions back at S.H.I.E.L.D., but they understand his desire to help his friend, so they give the two of them their space and send the other Avengers out instead. But little by little, Bucky improves. For the most part.

He still won't let Steve touch him, even though by now he remembers their history together and has expressed that he still feels the same way he did back in their Army days. Steve doesn't ask why, but he has a sneaking suspicion it has something to do with the trauma he's endured at the hands of Hydra. Sometimes, Bucky surprises him by putting a hand on his shoulder to get his attention when he's reading or drawing, but physical contact is, for the most part, beyond his comfort zone.

When he can, Steve takes Bucky out of Stark Tower for little jaunts. They always go to places that are small, easy to escape from, and not very crowded, because Bucky's PTSD means they might have to get out at any moment. There have been close calls, but Bucky has never had a breakdown in public. Steve wants to keep it that way, despite his determination to get Bucky used to the outside world again.

Bucky usually wears long sleeves and gloves to hide his metal arm. Steve knows he’s ashamed of it, but he doesn’t ask him to talk about it. Bucky will talk when he’s ready. It is a little weird that he wears long sleeves and gloves to bed, but if it makes him comfortable, Steve is all for it. Few people ask questions when they’re out and he’s dressed like that, and even fewer people recognize them, which is probably for the best. Bucky isn’t good at answering on-the-spot questions, nor is he good at small talk. He just stands there, tugging at the left sleeve of his shirt, until Steve handles the situation.

The sleeves and gloves are ever-present, so it’s a shock for Steve to see Bucky coming out of the bathroom one day wearing nothing but his jeans. Bucky scowls at him and walks to the closet, which has slowly become stocked with Bucky’s clothes as well as Steve’s. Steve gives him space until curiosity overcomes him and he cautiously approaches.

“I ripped the shirt I was going to wear,” Bucky says gruffly, pulling a thin black shirt from its hanger.

Steve nodded, gaze drawn to his arms. The metal one is dull, probably hasn’t been taken good care of for awhile, and the flesh-and-blood one is pale from lack of sunlight. Then Steve looks again, and there’s something on the flesh-and-blood arm that shouldn’t be there: a neat line of little pinkish circles, mostly faded but still faintly visible at one end and darker at the other.

“What’s that?” Steve aks, because he’s never seen anything like it before.

Bucky gives him a Look and puts on the shirt. He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his jeans, lights one, and takes a drag. Steve is pretty sure he’s going to ignore the question, and indeed, Bucky just goes about his business while he smokes (which you’re not supposed to do in the Tower, but they let Bucky do it anyway because he’s got Trauma), filling out paperwork for therapy and checking his bank accounts on the laptop.

But when he’s smoked the cigarette down to the filter, using a soda can as a makeshift ashtray, he stands up and walks back over to where Steve has sat down to draw. He gets Steve’s attention with a small, impatient sound, and while Steve watches, he pushes up the right sleeve on his shirt. Then, Bucky takes the cigarette out of his mouth with his left hand and puts it out right next to the darkest little circle on his arm.

Steve doesn’t react immediately. Bucky gives him a sick smirk and pokes the cigarette butt into the empty soda can, then brushes the ash off of his arm and rolls down his sleeve. He starts to turn and go before Steve finally registers what just happened and shoots out a hand to grab his metal wrist and stop him leaving.

“What the hell, Bucky?” he says helplessly. “What--what the fuck was that, Buck?”

Bucky shrugs.

“It makes me feel something,” he says simply.

“You fucking burned yourself!”

Bucky looks at him with dangerously blank eyes.

“You don’t get it,” he says. “I knew you wouldn’t get it.”

“What don’t I get, Bucky?” Steve asks, pleading. “Sit down and explain to me what’s going on, please.”

“Nobody gets it,” Bucky says, that same blank look in his eyes, and he starts to leave again.

“No, Bucky,” Steve snaps, “you are not leaving until you tell me what’s going on.”

Bucky’s expression shifts to dull frustration, and he pulls his arm out of Steve’s grip. But instead of leaving the room, he pulls a chair over from his desk and sits down next to Steve, who’s panicking internally over what he’s just seen and unsure of whether talking is going to do any good. This is not the kind of thing he’s prepared for. Back in their day, nobody did this kind of thing, or at least, nobody he knew. And now Bucky is sitting across from him, hands clasped loosely between his knees, and Steve knows that the cigarette burn is probably already blistering his skin under his sleeve.

“Bucky,” Steve says again, trying to remain calm, “tell me what’s going on.”

“I know you want to help me,” Bucky says, “but you really wouldn’t understand it.”

“I might not understand it, but someone else might,” Steve replies. “And I can’t know who to send you to unless you explain what’s happening.”

Bucky snorts, but he stays sitting.

“You don’t know how it is,” Bucky starts, “to have everything that makes you you ripped away countless times. You don’t know how it is to be tortured until you can’t remember your name. You don’t know how it is to be completely numb, unable to register anything but who you need to kill next and how to track them down.”

He’s shaking, but Steve doesn’t want to reach out to him for fear he’ll scare him away or worse.

“You don’t know,” Bucky continues, “what happens to you when the only feeling you can remember is pain. When everything else is just emptiness. You don’t know what happens when you have someone take you apart, piece by piece, and rebuild you as a cold, completely subservient tool for horrific slaughter.”

Bucky looks down at his hands and clenches them into fists.

“You don’t know what it’s like to go through all of that,” he says, “and suddenly find yourself in a place that expects you to feel again. A place where you’re told you should have a different response to infinite situations. A place that doesn’t give you a chance to collect data, just throws you into it and expects you to catch on.”

He looks at Steve, and the expression on his face is haunting.

“I can’t do it, Steve,” he says. “All these emotions, I can’t do them anymore. They took everything from me, including my ability to feel anything. It’s just a void now. There’s nothing left.”

Steve sits there, unable to form the words he knows Bucky needs from him. He wants to reach out again, but he doesn’t. Instead, he lets Bucky sit in silence for a few minutes before he clears his throat and tries his hand at comfort.

“You went through something too horrible for you to have come out unscathed,” he says finally. “You survived it, but you have a long way to go before you’ll be anything resembling normal. But why hurt yourself? Surely you can--”

“Because it’s the only time I can feel anything!” Bucky snaps. “I can’t stand being numb all the time. I have to feel something, and nothing else works. I’ve tried. I can’t be happy. I can’t be relieved. I can’t be scared or excited or uneasy. I can’t feel anything but pain and anger, and I don’t want to get angry because I don’t want to hurt people again. This is the only thing I can do.”

Bucky laughs, and the sound is more than a little hysterical.

“I can’t even cry anymore, Steve,” he says. “I think about everything I’ve done, and I can’t even feel sad or guilty over it. Nothing’s there. I know it was horrific, but I can’t access any emotional reaction to it.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, because he can’t think of what else to say.

“The only time I feel is when I’m in pain,” Bucky says.

He stands up and unbuckles his belt, unbuttons and unzips his jeans. Bucky tugs them down to his knees, and while he’s not wearing any underwear, that’s not what Steve is looking at. His thighs are a mess of scars and scabs in various stages of healing, long lines that cross-hatch every available inch of skin. Bucky pulls them down more, and Steve sees the same thing on his calves and shins. He gapes in spite of himself until Bucky pulls his jeans back up and covers all the marks.

“I just want to feel something,” Bucky says, and the way he says it breaks Steve’s heart.

“Okay,” Steve says.

“Okay? What do you mean by that?”

Steve clears his throat.

“Okay. You’re right. I don’t know what any of this is like,” he says. “And I don’t know how to make it better for you.”

Bucky slumps into his chair, smiling bitterly. He looks like he wants to say something, but Steve continues.

“I don’t know how to help, but I know that the team that recovered your memories will be able to help you,” he says. “They’ve dealt with this kind of thing before. Clint--the one with the bow and arrows--he had to talk to them after he was brainwashed by one of our enemies once, and he came out of it much better. And these people, they’ve helped all kinds of people. People with really terrible issues. People who aren’t normal and never will be. They can help you if you let them.”

He pauses.

“But you have to let them, Buck,” he says. “If you want to feel again, you have to start by telling them what you do to yourself next time you go into therapy, and you have to let them help you.”

It seems appropriate this time, so Steve reaches out and hovers his hand above Bucky’s, just barely touching the skin. Bucky flinches but doesn’t pull away or tell him to move it.

“You don’t have to be like this forever,” Steve says. “They can help you find safe ways to feel again. And I’ll be here the whole time, helping every way I can.”

“Thanks,” Bucky says. “I mean...Thank you. I’m sorry I’m such a mess.”

Steve reaches over and hugs him. Bucky stiffens at first but leans into the touch after a few moments.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Steve says quietly. “What they did to you was inhuman. Anyone would be a mess after all that. Just focus on getting better, okay?”

“Okay,” Bucky says.

That night, Bucky sleeps in Steve’s bed, curled into a ball at the very edge of it, and, for the first time in months, without dreaming at all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky, at the suggestion of his therapy team, gets a dog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the mood whiplash. I just wanted to post this before I got back to the main story, here. Treat it as an aside and something that will be happening as the other chapters do. We'll hopefully return to your regularly scheduled angst soon.

The topic comes up in therapy first. One of Bucky's psychologists think it would be a good idea for him to have something to take care of to prove that he can do good things as well as bad. The others agree that it would do wonders for his mood to have a pet to be responsible for, and they encourage him to go to shelters and look at the animals. Bucky isn't sure how he feels about the idea, but they tell him it would really help his therapy for him to have an animal companion.

They suggest a cat, since they can be left alone for short periods of time and are generally more independent than dogs, but Bucky thinks he probably wants a dog. He wants something larger that will emote for him in ways he still can't. Feelings are hard, and he figures looking at a dog expressing emotion might help him do the same. He resolves to start looking as soon as he leaves his appointment.

He brings it up with Steve when they're in the elevator going up to their floor. Steve thinks it's a great idea, and he wants to help Bucky look at shelter sites and rescue groups right away. Bucky expected to be alone in his endeavor, so the realization that Steve wants to help is a very pleasant one. When they get to their floor, they immediately open the laptop and start looking for local shelters and rescue groups, giddy as children.

And they are immediately overwhelmed with how many animals need homes. Bucky's instinct is to take them all, but he knows it's not possible to house and care for hundreds of animals. So he looks up a site where he can narrow down his search to breeds that would go well with his lifestyle, and he compiles a list to check against what is available in the local shelters.

When the other Avengers find out he's looking for a dog, they all volunteer to do some digging themselves. They inundate Bucky with emails about different dogs at different shelters, and they buy him things he'll need to take care of a pet, including luxury dog beds and the best dog food they can find. Natasha privately gifts him a set of grooming tools and several bags of dog treats, and he promises that it will be their little secret, because Natasha doesn't want to look too terribly soft in front of everyone right now. 

After weeks of looking, they find several dogs at a nearby shelter that they want to check out, and Steve takes Bucky to look at them. Bucky is nervous on the ride over, because he's never tried to be around animals after...everything, and what if they don't like him? Steve assures him that everything will be fine, but Bucky isn't so sure. The car pulls up to the entrance, and Bucky and Steve get out, with Bucky tugging his jacket sleeve down as if he can hide his metal hand entirely and cursing the fact that he didn't wear gloves.

The noise is overwhelming. At first, Bucky wonders if he should have come at all, but he gets used to the barking and the whining little by little. A worker at the shelter greets them with a warm smile and offers to take them back so they can look at the dogs, and Steve thanks her with his usual charm and grace. Bucky is glad Steve is taking over the whole talking thing here.

All of the kennels are full. There are a large variety of dogs, too, though there's half a dozen cages in a row with shaky little chihuahuas. Bucky crouches and looks into a kennel with a very energetic cocker spaniel who jumps at the metal fence that makes up the front of the kennel and barks excitedly. It licks his metal hand when he offers it, and it seems genuinely happy to see him. Bucky almost settles on this dog, but he stands and keeps looking, because you never know if a dog more suited to you is just a kennel away.

And then, right at the end of one row of kennels, he sees her. She's curled up in her bed, watching him with her big, soulful brown eyes, and she's missing patches of hair all over. The dog looks positively miserable and terrified, and Bucky falls in love with her right there. He asks the worker if they can see her, and she gives him a strange look. No one has shown interest in this dog since she came to the shelter weeks ago. But Bucky insists, and they bring her to a small room where Bucky can meet the dog and see if she would be a good fit for him.

She's a black greyhound, and her papers list her as three years old. Her name is Grace, and she's a retired racing dog who was surrendered by her owners because they didn't have time for her. The reason, the worker says, that she's not in a greyhound rescue is because they're all full, but they're doing the best they can with her with their limited resources. Her hair loss is due partially to hypothyroidism, partially to stress, and they're working on treating her for both.

As soon as the worker leaves Steve and Bucky alone with Grace, she climbs into Bucky's lap, curls up, and falls asleep. Bucky pets her hesitantly, scared to irritate her delicate skin, and she looks up at him sleepily and licks his metal hand before dozing off again. Steve is overjoyed; the dog obviously likes him, and Bucky's lopsided grin indicates that he likes her, too. Bucky is still afraid he'll hurt her if he's not careful, but he decides right there that he wants to keep her.

The worker is surprised when she comes back. Grace hasn't shown much trust in the people who work at the shelter, staying back in the corner of her kennel when they give her food and cowering when they put the leash on her to take her out for walks. Bucky must be a special person, she insists with a laugh, for her to be so comfortable with him. She warns him that he will have to deal with the hypothyroidism and anxiety, but he's more than ready to take on the challenges.

Ordinarily, procedure is to have a prospective owner place a hold on an animal and go back to discuss it with their family for a day before they actually adopt them, but Bucky is so taken with Grace that he asks that the process be sped up. The worker starts to tell him no, but then she looks at Steve again, and recognition spreads across her face, and she agrees immediately to let them adopt the dog that day. They fill out the paperwork, get information about local vet clinics, and the worker goes back to get Grace for them.

She rides in the back of the car with Bucky, terrified of the car but relatively secure in his lap. She doesn't fit, of course, but Bucky holds her just the same, stroking her where there is fur and murmuring calming things in her ear as she shakes in his arms. Steve takes a photo and sends it to the other Avengers; Tony posts it to the public Avengers Twitter with the caption “Guess who just got a dog?!”

The other Avengers want to see her right away, but Steve advises them to let the dog get accustomed to her new surroundings first. Grace, as soon as Bucky puts her down, tears off around the floor, smelling everything. Bucky's afraid she'll get into something, but she just sniffs around for the most part. Then she disappears for ten minutes, and when they go looking for her, they find her on the bed, snoozing away. Bucky doesn't want to move her, so he just puts a “meaty center” bone next to her on the bed and leaves her to her nap.

Grace takes to life in the tower splendidly. At first, she doesn't want to be around anyone but Bucky and Steve, but she gradually warms up to other people. Bruce is the first one she'll let pet her, and Natasha is the second. The other Avengers are careful not to overwhelm her by crowding her in, so they visit one or two at a time and wait to bring her into the common floor of the tower until she knows them all well enough to want to go to them for petting. Then, when they bring her to the common floor, she tears all around again, smelling everything, and settled into the bed Bucky brought down for her next to the couch in the living room.

Bucky is worried about her health, since they told him at the shelter that she'll be on medication for the rest of her life, but he finds these wonderful things called “Pill Pockets” at the pet food store that make taking her medication unbelievably easy, and in time, her fur starts growing back everywhere but on her legs, where he discovers she licks obsessively when stressed or frightened. They put her on medication for her anxiety, though, and her fur starts growing back there, too.

Without fail, Grace sleeps at the foot of the bed every night. They kick her out of the room sometimes for a little privacy, but when they're ready to sleep, they always let her back in. Steve says it's because she keeps their feet warm, but Bucky knows it's because he likes having her sprawled out over her part of the bed. Sometimes, they wake up and she's managed to wedge herself between them on top of the covers, but usually, she stays in her spot. Steve comments that it's like having a toddler, but one without thumbs. Bucky can't say he's ever been around a toddler that he remembers, so he takes Steve's word for it.

Grace makes him happier. She doesn't fix him, of course, but she makes things a little easier. He finds it less daunting to explain how he's feeling to his therapy team, and he even manages to crack a smile now and then. Steve remarks on the changes in his usual gentle way, but Bucky just shrugs and says it must be the therapy. He's not ready to tell people how much Grace has helped him. He knows Grace knows, and that's enough for now.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky deals with nicotine withdrawal and progresses a little in his recovery.

The first thing they do is take away his cigarettes. Bucky is decidedly Not Happy about this turn of events, and he's even less so when he starts going through withdrawal. The nic fits are bad, but the irritability is worse. Bucky doesn't like feeling like he can't control his anger. It's terrifying, really, and he shuts himself up in the bedroom on his and Steve's floor to avoid doing anything he'll regret.

Bruce takes pity on him after two days and buys him an electronic cigarette kit. It's a really nice one, and it feels like a regular cigarette, except it's a little heavier because of the battery, and it's all black to match his wardrobe. He also gets him e-juice in a variety of nicotine levels and flavors—and a large pack of disposable gloves, because nicotine is dangerous to handle without them. Bruce presents the kit and e-juices to Bucky by cracking the door open after Jarvis unlocks it for him and sliding the items into the bedroom before closing the door again.

Bucky investigates them after five minutes or so. He reads the manual, and it looks simple enough to put the liquid into the little cartridge, so he does, obediently putting the gloves on first as per the note Bruce left on the little box. It's a good thing he does, too, because his hands shake when he tries to squirt the liquid into the cartridge, and he spills some. But he manages eventually to get enough in, and he puts the electronic cigarette back together, and he hesitantly takes a drag off of it.

The relief is immediate. Bucky feels the nicotine spread through his system, calming his nerves and restoring his good mood, though he suspects the feeling may be slightly due to the placebo effect. Still, he feels immensely better, and he opens the door to find Bruce still standing there in the hallway, waiting for him. Bucky gives him a small, barely-perceptible smile, and thanks him.

“I hate to see you suffer,” Bruce says with a wide smile of his own. “You like it, then, I take it?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says a little hoarsely—he hasn't talked in two days, so he's a little rusty. “So I just use this like a regular cigarette, then?”

“Pretty much,” Bruce says. “Just be careful not to smoke a whole pack in one sitting. It's been known to happen, since there's no indicator that you've finished a cigarette's worth of nicotine. Though I guess with you, it wouldn't matter.”

“It's funny,” Bucky muses, “how I came down off of all the shit they had me on for 70 years no problem, but I smoke for six months and that withdrawal is what breaks me.”

“Nicotine is a hell of a drug,” Bruce says with a shrug. “And besides, you were mostly delirious for the withdrawal that time. I used to smoke, so I know how the nic fits feel. But I'm not allowed any stimulants anymore except for carefully-controlled amounts of tea.”

“Tea is a stimulant?”

“Well, some varieties have caffeine.” Bruce smiles. “Good to have you back, Bucky.”

“I wouldn't say I'm back, necessarily,” Bucky says. “I still fully intend on hiding here for awhile.”

“Fair enough,” Bruce says, “but I'm still glad you're talking.”

Bucky makes a noncommittal noise and excuses himself.

They also take all the sharp things out of the kitchen, and they search the floor until they find Bucky's razor blades. Everything even remotely sharp or pointy is removed from his and Steve's floor and replaced with safer alternatives. Even the safety razors are replaced with an electric shaver, because Bucky could still take the blades out and hurt himself with them if he was desperate. Bucky is also not pleased with this turn of events, but he doesn't mind it as much as when they took away his cigarettes. 

After all, he still has his fingernails.

Steve clips them short, but there's still enough there to tear open the skin of his thighs and calves. Steve always sees it, because he's with Bucky almost all the time, and he tries to get Bucky to talk about it, but he just wants to ignore it. He talks about it enough in therapy. Steve always gives up on trying to get him to talk after a few minutes, but it makes things awkward for awhile after.

The dog helps. Grace follows Bucky around their floor, making small, raspy noises when he ignores her for too long. They found out when she tried to bark at Pepper once that her vocal cords had been cut, even though it was the first time they'd heard her bark in the two weeks since they'd gotten her. Bucky makes sure to listen for any minute sound she makes and tries to give her what she needs as soon as possible. He's still terrible at taking care of himself, but he can take care of her.

Still, Bucky has his bad days, days when his legs are covered in scratches and he doesn't want to talk to anyone. There are days when he doesn't speak in therapy at all, just sits there with his arms crossed and looking at the floor until the clock runs out and he gets to leave. Those are the days when the scratches spread to his chest, and Steve cleans them all at night even though they've mostly healed by then. Bucky appreciates the gesture, but he doesn't say anything about it.

In therapy, they try to get to the root of the problem. Bucky maintains that it's because he can't feel anything else, but the therapy team wants to know why this is. Bucky's definitely not interested in exploring the cause of his numbness, because it would involve confronting the torture he was put through for seventy years, but they keep needling until he shuts down entirely. Several sessions pass with him saying nothing again, and nearly every inch of his body that he can reach is covered in scratches for weeks after.

Natasha takes him aside one day and brings him to a disused room on the common floor. She tells Jarvis to lock the door and leave them alone for an hour, and then she starts to talk. Bucky doesn't pay attention at first—he's still in that semi-catatonic state from his earlier therapy—but certain key words catch his interest: brainwashed, forced, kill, broken. He looks at her, quizzically, and asks her to repeat what she just said. This time, he listens, and what he hears hits something in him he hasn't felt in seventy years: sympathy.

“I'm sorry,” he says, and there's another new emotion, this time what might be regret.

“I know what it's like, Bucky,” she says. “And I know that it doesn't have to ruin you forever.”

Bucky nods.

“It's just hard, some days,” he says hesitantly. “Everything is cold inside. I can't feel anything, or at least, I didn't think I could feel anything. I'm starting to see that that's not true.”

“It comes back in pieces,” Natasha says. “You'll wake up one day and remember how to feel angry, and that will probably be the most terrifying thing in the world for you.”

“I know,” Bucky says quietly. “It already happened.”

“Then you're doing better than I was at this point,” she says with a smile meant to cheer him up.

“It's easier to feel pain than anything else,” Bucky admits. “I'm not sure I want the rest back.”

“You will,” Natasha assures him. “What you get back, you'll learn to cherish it. It might not be everything, but it'll be enough to make you feel like a human again.”

Bucky isn't sure how to tell her he doesn't know whether he wants to feel like a human again. But he feels like she knows anyway, from the look she gives him to the tea she makes for them when Jarvis comes back to let them out of the room. The thought is comforting, similar to the way the pain is, and Bucky starts to wonder if he'll be able to recover after all.


End file.
